


At the End

by Lizlow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow
Summary: All who could have been called their friends knew this to be true: no matter how long it lasted, they would be happy.At the end of all things, he's glad he got to meet her. He's glad to have known her, to have held her hand, to have studied alongside her. He's so glad he got to live beside her, to share his love with her.Because, in the end, their friends were right. They were happy.
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	At the End

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a short prompt that I jotted down, and then I didn't get back to it for a while. It's still not super long, but it's been something I've wanted to write for a while, so I'm glad I was able to get it out in some capacity. I love Cyril and Lysithea a lot! I haven't posted in a few months, due to being busy with other work, but hopefully I can get myself to post more!

He asks himself if he’s allowed to handle it, out of ingrained habit, only to immediately wonder why he’s _silly_ enough to question his own authority. He’s the only one who should be in charge of this. It’s the least he can do; it’s a task he can handle. It’ll let him process everything that’s happened, even though they were already prepared for this result. 

There’s no _need_ to ask for help. Not when this was their own little world. One... that came crashing, shattering, all too quickly. 

He figures the others would like to know though. They deserve that much, since they were all friends in the end. He’ll be sure to tell them, in that case, once he’s regained his footing, once he’s ready. 

Cyril first tells himself the dream is over, then he corrects himself by saying _she’s_ in the moon and the stars and the entire sky. She was no falsity, and neither was his own life. No, it was all real, and it still is. Even if...

Even if the bed he returns to after the long day solely has an imprint on where she used to lay. 

His fingers move over her recipe book first. In it, there’s an old progression of a cake formula that she concocted thanks to a certain terribly picky mercenary from their school days. On the very next page is Cyril’s favorite, one that was rather sweet in taste. It probably became so... because she adored it too. Anyone can see that this recipe was viewed more than any other. The corners are more worn, there’s a bit of staining from the baking residue. But that was fun, homely, and they lived for it.

So much so that it led to some really embarrassing, kind of cheesy stuff like feeding each other with the other’s silverware. 

There are plenty more books too, all gathered during their travels, their years, to get here, and given to them as gifts before they left. They’ve been worn, read well, and enjoyed nonetheless. A simple life, this has been, logged well in the journals, multiple for each of them, that top the shelves off. He picks another one up, and paper falls out - a letter. He doesn’t want to read it just yet - he can already tell why it’s there - so he pockets it for later. This book, this collection of stories, was a favorite of theirs to put notes to the other in. 

Next are some little dolls. One of them is one that she’s had since she was really young. It got lost once, at the academy, but Professor Byleth found it. And thank goodness she did! He didn’t know any of them too well then, when that doll was returned to her, but he does recall how relieved she was to have it back. That’s why, after he got to know her better, he did his best to make the one right next to it. It’s less refined, and he had a lot of help on the outfit from Hilda, but she loved it all the same. 

“I should write Ignatz, and thank for him for this.” 

A painting of them, under the stars, the moon is so close to her, she’s practically touching it. When Ignatz painted it for them, he said it came naturally to him. He hadn’t seen them in so long, so just seeing them as happy as they were had been enough to move his brush. Even though the both of them hardly had enough money to pay for it, Ignatz insisted it was a gift, and a gift that they well deserved. To their preservation, perseverance, the future - since it was their hands that shared in the partaking of their future. 

Had he known, known by looking at her, and the distancing glow upon her features, that something within her was flickering out? 

“These are the little pieces of ya that are left, Lys.”

Cyril says, gifting his words, realized as they are, to the home. If he closes his eyes, he can picture her. Of course, with the memories they’ve shared, why wouldn’t he? 

“I was real happy, Lys. I don’t regret a thing. My hand’s still warm from the very last time you held it. Your hands were small, but they were the warmest I’ve ever known.

“You did a lot for me. I hope I could make what little time ya had the best I could.” 

He’ll stand there, just a little bit longer. At the end of all things, this is where they promised their days too, once the war ended. He knows, knows that those books they both adored so much won’t tell their tale to the greater history, but their friends will always remember them.

A certain best friend said he’d write about them, in a letter, but Cyril wrote back that it was alright. There’s no need for it. He’s happy just knowing people are thinking about them. 

And with that, he gains the courage to face what he should not avoid. It’ll be quiet - it _is_ quiet, but that’s how his life is now. He thinks of letters that they’ve received from their friends. Suggestions from Hilda, concerns from Lorenz - should they be in trouble, they will have a place to take refuge in! But there’s no need for any of that. 

In their little home, he’ll see the end of his days too, he thinks, even if he journeys out, he’ll return. It’s not time to depart, not today - not soon. 

He makes a small trek to the hill near their house that kisses the sky, and then he kneels before a small store, careful at where he actually places his knees. Something small to mark where she stood, how she stood. Pressing each letter, chip-by-chip, into the stone, carving away, Cyril supposes all his experience working so hard on his writing has culminated pretty well. It’s all so he can give this the respect it deserves, the love he harbors. 

This spot is probably the best spot for doing so, too. It’s so close to where they were able to live at peace, it’s so close to home. 

At the end of all these things, little and big, he’s _so_ glad he knew her, even if the time was far too short, compared to the grand scheme of what she should have had. His life felt all the better - all the more enjoyable, thanks to all the others, thanks to her. Real friends, and real moving forward. He got to live for him, for _Cyril_ , and he still plans on doing so. This act is for her, sure, but it’s also the closure he needs. 

At the end of it all, he hopes he did contribute to her having felt like she could live. It seemed like it, but he can’t be too certain what actually went on in her head. Her smiles though, those were real, so he thinks... yeah, they were both happy. 

Once the carving is completed to a finish he thinks she’d like, he takes the letter he stored in his pocket from earlier - alongside a letter of his own. He knows she’ll be able to read it if he leaves it here for her. She’s diligent like that, and that’s something that can’t cease for her. He figures she’d appreciate the note, just like old times, too. 

_Dear Lysithea,_

_Rest well. You always did push yourself too far back in the academy days, but I was the same way. I hope you are happy, wherever you are. I am glad to have known you. You made me happiest of all. I am not sure if it is true, since it is hard to believe, but if you could watch over me, I would like it._

_I sure will miss you. But I know that you will always be in my heart._

_I love you. I always will._

His letter to her is placed carefully, secured so it can’t fly away, and he looks up at the sky, the free sky they adored to gaze at together. This isn’t his end, nor is it hers, truly. She’ll thrive on in the dusty veil of a not-so-lonely twinkle, she laughs and pouts in the brightest lights of the sky, and she holds his hand with the breeze that passes by. 

Nature, she has accepted, and he can sit within it.

It doesn’t feel lonely, even if it’s only him out here. No, he can see the smiles tracing in the sky, and the open, cloudless dusk telling him that the sun will once again come the dawn’s dewy glow. 

Finally, he comes to conclude this memoriam by reading the letter he found, the one addressed to him. He looks it over, sipping in every word. Slowly, knowingly. Her handwriting is shakier than when they were younger, her strokes far lighter. But everything is legible, everything drips of days past.

_Dear Cyril,_

_You might not see this until another star is added to the sky. That star is... well, you should be able to piece together the meaning! I have adored watching the sky with you._

His arm comes to cover his eyes; he staggers in his breath. If there should come an onlooker, they would be able to catch him smiling, smiling despite the heart-sink. The end of one chapter, but an eternal song to remain. He hopes she’ll continue to read his letters, and smile like always. 

That’s what he’ll carry on. 

_I have been happy. So incredibly happy. Thank you for sticking beside me. For making that doll for me. For not leaving me alone. For... not giving up. You’re really very stubborn, you know!_

_I love you, and... I am so proud of you._


End file.
